


Amara

by CRebel



Category: Buffy the Vampire Slayer
Genre: Dysfunctional Family, Father-Daughter Relationship, Gen, Mother-Daughter Relationship
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2016-09-19
Updated: 2017-09-30
Packaged: 2018-08-15 23:39:12
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 7
Words: 9,312
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/8077930
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/CRebel/pseuds/CRebel
Summary: When Spike and Drusilla flee Sunnydale, they aren't alone. Their five-year-old daughter, Amara, watches from the backseat of her father's car as her parents' relationship begins to crumble.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> Disclaimer: I own nothing of *Buffy: The Vampire Slayer.*

It’s very, very quiet in the car. And the not talking isn’t a big deal so much as the no music playing. Daddy loves to play music in the car. But something bad just happened. And I don’t understand what, but I’m not about to ask. Not now.

Daddy hit Mummy, so hard that he knocked her out. He told me after he put her in the passenger seat that he had to so he could get her out safely, because she wouldn’t have come otherwise. Then he told me to get in the car, twice, because I wasn’t moving quickly enough, and we had to go – the Slayer and Angeles were back inside our home, fighting, and I think Daddy thought the Slayer would win and kill us. I don’t know, I don’t really know anything, except that we’re out of Sunnydale and driving faster and faster away. I don’t have any of my things, except for my favorite doll Rosalie. She’s soft, not like Mummy’s dolls, and I hold her tight next to me and watch Daddy from the side. I can’t see Mummy because he has her pulled into him. She still hasn’t woken up. It’s been a long time, I think, but she still hasn’t woken up.

I almost ask Daddy if she’s going to wake up but then I don’t because I’m scared. I’m more scared than I think I’ve ever been, actually, so scared I can barely move. 

The car roars under us as Daddy passes other cars and streetlights. 

Then, “Angeles . . .”

Daddy looks away from the road and down at where Mummy’s head must be, because that was Mummy who said that. She said it like it was in a dream, but she said it. 

“Dru?” Daddy murmurs. 

“Angeles . . . Angeles!” 

She went from the barest whisper to a scream. Daddy swerves the car and I squeeze Rosalie tighter, but that’s all I can do, that’s all I can do, and Mommy is sitting up now, and the back of her head goes back and forth and her hair whips all around.

“He’s burning!” she shrieks. “He’s burning, I can see it!”

Daddy reaches for her. “Love, love, I’m so sorry – Dru –”

She smacks his hand away. “You! You betrayed him! Our sire!”

“I did it for us! For our family!”

“He was our family! He was!”

We’ve stopped, but not in the street, we’re on the side of it. 

“He’s dead?” Daddy asks. “Are you sure?”

“He’s dead,” Mummy hisses, “He’s dead. He died at the Slayer’s hands . . . after she restored his soul! And now he’s burning . . .” She digs her hands into her hair. “Burning, burning, Spike . . . like he’s in sunlight – like he’s the sun itself, burning, burning!”

Daddy grabs her again and makes her get her hands out of her hair and pulls her to him. “Dru,” he says, but she’s screaming, sobbing, screaming. “Dru. Drusilla, please, darling, darling – it had to be done. He was ruining us. He wanted to destroy the world, and Amara isn’t ready.”

“You’re wrong!”

And I think Daddy is, but I won’t say it.

“She’s five years old! She can’t turn at five!”

“You don’t understand her! Your own child! You don’t understand her, any more than you understand me! Any more than you understood Angeles, my sweet Angeles!” Then she collapses, and I can’t see her anymore. “So much fire, Spike . . .” And she’s back to whispering, like she’s exhausted. “So much fire . . .”

“It’s alright, pet,” Daddy whispers. “We’re safe. Isn’t that enough?”

Mummy doesn’t say yes. She keeps talking about the fire. And after a while, Daddy starts driving again. And Mummy murmurs for a long time about Angeles and fire and souls, and then I can’t tell what she’s murmuring at all, and then she’s quiet. And then we’re all quiet again.  
. . . . .

Around four in the morning, Daddy turns suddenly onto a gravel road. It’s the first time I’ve paid attention to anything in hours, even though I haven’t slept, I’ve just been to places in my head. Places in Sunnydale and places I’ve never been, like hell, and like where we might be going, and places I know we’re not going to. 

Up the hill I see a single light, a porch light, shining on the porch of a two-story house with lots of windows. When we get closer, I see a truck parked over to the side of the house. Daddy slows down when we get close and stops at the top of the hill but still a good bit from the house.

“You stay and rest, love,” he says, and his head is down so I know he’s talking to Mummy, who’s still resting against him. “I’ll go in and clean out the place, then I’ll fetch you and you can have your pick –”

“No,” and Mummy’s up like a shot, and by the light from the porch I can see that her face has turned into the wrinkly sort of face she makes before she eats. “No. I want to feel it. The life pumping into my mouth like music. Thump-thump.” She reaches for the door. “Thump-thump.”

Daddy, he misses a beat, but then there’s a change and his face does the same wrinkly thing Mummy’s has. “Whatever you want, darling,” he says, and for the first time all night he looks at me. “Wait here, Princess.”

“Precious baby, wait for your parents. Your good Daddy.” And then Mummy’s out of the car. Daddy follows.

I unbuckle and rest my head against the window and watch for a bit. Daddy gets the door open, and Mummy floats through after him like a ghost. A minute goes by, and a light flashes on upstairs. I see shadows moving, and at least two of them aren’t Mummy’s or Daddy’s. I watch Daddy’s shadow make another shadow twist strange and fall, and then I sigh and rest my head against Rosalie’s, wishing they would hurry. I want to feel better. Daddy and Mummy know how to make me feel better more than anyone else.

I’m kicking the back of the seat like I’m not supposed to when Daddy comes out of the house, rubbing his hands. His face is back to the face I like better, the face that looks more like mine. He opens my door and takes me up in his arms before I can put my feet on the ground. I grip Rosalie hard with one hand so I can wrap both of my arms around Daddy’s neck. “There we are, sweet,” he says. “Daddy’s got you.”

He carries me across grass and gravel and up the porch and into the house. It’s a nice house, with a big living room and an even bigger kitchen. It’s the kitchen he carries me into. He sets me in a chair at a long table. I look around for a body, but there isn’t one. I think all of the bodies were upstairs, and anyway, Daddy and Mummy are pretty clean about all that. They probably tucked the bodies in a closet or maybe tossed them out a window. I put Rosalie in my lap and rub my eyes. 

“Lots of food in here,” Daddy says, and he sounds too happy, fake happy. He’s going through cabinets, and he pulls out bread, then some peanut butter, and then he goes to the fridge and gets jelly and a container of something green, which he sniffs and decides is okay. “A quick supper for you, love, then it’s bedtime.”

“Where’s Mummy?”

“Upstairs.”

“Is she going to be alright?”

He’s gotten a plate. He dumps the green stuff – broccoli – onto it and sticks it into the microwave and makes it go. “She’s going to be fine,” he says, and he doesn’t sound so happy anymore.

The broccoli finishes heating and Daddy makes a peanut butter and jelly sandwich and then puts it all in front of me, plus a fork and a glass of milk. “Now, then,” he says, crouching down to me and taking my hands, rubbing them with his thumbs. “I’m going back upstairs so Mummy and I can talk –”

“Did you want Angeles to die?”

His thumbs stop rubbing my hands. They just press into them. “All of that is none of your concern, Mar,” he tells me. “It’s for grown-ups to worry about.”

“But I thought Angeles –”

“Forget about Angeles,” he says, sharp all of a sudden. “Forget about bloody Sunnydale while you’re at it. I don’t want to hear you talk about it anymore.”

I pull one hand away to rub my eye, so I have an excuse for why it’s going red. 

Daddy sighs and I see him let his head fall and then come back up again. “I’m sorry, Princess, I didn’t mean to snap. It’s been a difficult night. And I know it’s been hard on you, too, and you’re being very brave, sweet girl. I’m proud of you. Just . . . just let me worry about everything, let me take care of your mother, and you just be my good girl. Okay?”

I nod.

“Okay. There’s a room upstairs, the second door on your left. It has a big bed all for you. Eat your supper and then go to sleep.”

“Alright.”

He stands and kisses my forehead. “Have a sweet dream.” He starts to walk out, but then stops and nods at my plate, and in the bright white light I can’t help but think he looks kind of sick. “Eat all of your broccoli,” he tells me, and then he’s gone. I hear him climb the stairs.

I do eat all of the broccoli, even though it isn’t warm enough, and then I eat half of my sandwich but I’m not really hungry. I drink my milk, though, and put the dishes in the sink. Then I go upstairs.

Mummy and Daddy are talking. She sounds like she’s singing, actually, but then she’s shouting. I put Rosalie on the bed and go in search of a bathroom. I find one at the end of the hall and use the toilet, wash my hands, and go back to the bedroom. I close the curtains good and tight before I pull off my shoes and socks and climb under the covers. 

The next thing I know, someone’s in the bed with me, someone cold. I go cold, too, but not in the same way. I open my eyes, how long have I been asleep? It’s still dark out, but the hand that reaches around my body and strokes mine is so pale it seems to shine anyway, like the moon.

“Mummy?”

“Shh, my sweet,” she says in her sing-song way, trailing her fingers up and down my arm, “Go back to sleep. Mummy’s going to sleep right here with you. My precious baby . . . my one and only true love . . .”

“Where’s Daddy?”

“Daddy’s been naughty. Daddy doesn’t get to be with Mummy or Baby tonight. Mummy and Baby get to be together, just Mummy and Baby.”

“I’m not a baby, Mummy . . .”

“Hush, now. Don’t contradict.”  
. . . . .

I wake up to an awful smell and light coming into the room. Too much light, not just the kind that slips in through curtains. I sit up, all tangled in blankets, and see someone in front of the window, the bare glass, it’s Mummy, Mummy’s burning – 

“Mummy! Mummy, move!”

She’s singing and swaying and screaming, too, and then the door bangs open and Daddy is in the room, by her side, dragging her from the window. She collapses on the carpet when he lets her  
go, flames flickering from places all over her body. 

“Burning . . . like him, like him . . .”

Daddy yanks the quilt off of the bed and throws it over her. He says something, and I don’t hear it the first time, because Mummy, Mummy looks so bad and I’m scared, but then Daddy shouts it right at me: “Amara, I said get the blinds!”

I stumble out of bed and close the blinds, the curtains, and go to Mummy, because I’m crying and she makes that better. “Mummy?” I say, so she’ll tell me she’s alright, “Mummy, what were you doing?”

“Burning like him, love,” she mutters, her eyes finding mine but losing them again, “Burning like we all must.”

“Mummy –”

“Amara, go downstairs,” says Daddy, almost whispering. I don’t obey him, not right away, and I’m trying to find a way to tell him that I need to stay with Mummy when he reaches out and grabs my sleeve and yanks me to my feet. “Girl, make me repeat myself one more time, and I swear I’ll thrash you for it! Now go!” He gives my bottom a hard smack, and I mind him, I go, crying, and not because of the smack and not because of the threat, because of Mummy, all because of Mummy. I stumble down the hallway crying, I stumble down the stairs crying, I sit on the bottom step crying – because of Mummy. She was trying to burn herself. She was burning herself. Did she want to burn herself away?

Burning like him, love. Burning like we all will.

Burning like Angeles, that’s what she meant. Burning like he is in hell . . . but she said like we all will . . . so that means I’ll burn? I’ll burn like Angeles? 

Me, Mummy, Daddy . . . burning forever and ever, because that’s what hell is, just burning for always.

A terror strikes me like it never has in all my life, and I sit here on the stairs and cry.


	2. Chapter 2

We went to Sunnydale for the Slayer.

I didn't really know what a Slayer was. Mummy and Daddy had said the word before, but they'd never told me what it meant. But I understand now. A Slayer is a very dangerous lady who kills vampires like vampires kill humans. Someone who can kill my daddy. And I thought no one could kill my daddy. He told me once that the only thing he's afraid of is losing Mummy and me. But that's not true, at least not anymore. I saw it the first time I saw him look at the Slayer. He was afraid of her.

But he wasn't on our first night in Sunnydale. He was there to kill her, like he had killed two other Slayers, years and years before I was born. He was going to kill the Slayer and make Mummy better, because Mummy had gotten sick while we were in Prague. I'm not sure how. Daddy never said how. But he said she was weak and we could make her better in Sunnydale, and so we went there. It's in a place called California. That's a state in the United States. The sun gets hot. I'd stand out in it sometimes if I woke up early enough to see the sunset and Daddy didn't make me go back to bed.

There was a boy in charge of the vampires we found there, a boy who was a vampire. Mummy and Daddy always told me that children couldn't become vampires, but Daddy told me after I saw the boy that the truth was children just shouldn't become vampires. He didn't like the boy. I didn't like him, either. He wasn't a boy, really. He only looked like one.

After only a little while in Sunnydale, Daddy took some of the boy vampire's vampires and went to kill the Slayer. He kissed me before he left and told me he'd be back before morning. But he wasn't. And when he did get back, he told Mummy when he thought I couldn't hear that the Slayer was still alive. That she had family and friends and that made her dangerous. He told her it was bad.

Then he killed the vampire boy and felt better.

But things kept getting worse.


	3. Chapter 3

Forever's come and passed when I stand, all quivery. I can hear Mummy and Daddy upstairs. They're yelling. I don't want to hear it, I don't want to hear it. I go out on the front porch. Daylight. I don't go out in daylight much. It's a grey daylight.

The gravel driveway stretches a long way down a hill to the street. The rule when we stay in houses is that I have to stay in the yard, but this house has a big yard. I walk down the porch steps and along the driveway, staying on the grass next to it, because it feels better than the gravel. In Sunnydale we had a garden. Mummy and I planted flowers and Mummy said if I listened close I could hear the flowers talking, and sometimes I think I did. That made her happy. There are some yellow flowers hiding in the grass out here, but they aren't very pretty, and I don't want to listen to them anyway.

I'm over halfway down the hill, halfway to the street now. I haven't seen a car come along yet. We're not in a city. I'm not sure what we're in. But it's not home, we don't have a home now. Sunnydale was home. All of my toys, except for Rosalie, are back there. All of my books. Mummy's dolls. And the pretty garden.

I have to stop thinking about it because I'm almost back to crying. I rub my eyes until they're dry, and when I quit, there's a car in the street. I stop dead, because now it's pulling up the driveway. Right up to me. It stops and the window rolls down. An old man with thick glasses sticks his shiny bald head out the window. "Hello," he says.

All I can think to do is say, "Hi."

"What's your name?"

He's human. I mean, probably. I don't speak to many humans. Daddy says I shouldn't bother because I'll eat them up one day, like he and Mummy do, and it would be like playing with my food. But Daddy's all the way up in the house and he just yelled at me.

"What's yours?" I say.

"Jesse Lowe."

I play with the lace on my wrinkled dress. "I'm Amara."

"That's pretty. Are your parents here, Amara?"

"Why are you here?"

"Well." He taps his hands on the steering wheel and smacks his lips. "I go to church with the Stephensons, and they weren't there this morning. Not like them at all. I live down the road, so I thought I'd stop by on my way home and check up on them. Are they inside?"

I'm trying to think up a lie when I hear someone shout my name. I turn fast and see Daddy standing on the porch, inches away from the steps and just out of the sunlight. My belly gets tight, because I know I've done something wrong, though I'm not sure what. I look at the man in the truck again – he's staring up at the house and my daddy with squinty eyes – and then I race up the hill. I get there fast and jump up the stairs to Daddy. "He just showed up –"

"Quiet," Daddy says, and I lower my head. I hear gravel crunch-crunching behind me – the truck following me up. I move behind Daddy as Jesse Lowe gets out of the truck. He slams the door and sticks his hands in his pockets.

"Make it a habit of talking to little girls when they're alone?" Daddy asks.

"I came to check on my friends," Jesse Lowe says easily, walking closer. His voice isn't shaky and his eyes don't dart away from Daddy. He's not afraid of him. He doesn't know he should be. "This is their house, I'm guessing you know that. Whoever you are. Where are they?"

"Well," Daddy says in a tone just as easy, "The Missus is working on lunch right now. Quiche, apparently."

"And you're . . . a friend of the Stephensons?"

"Oh, yeah, old pals. Even got a bit of her blood in me."

"Huh." Jesse Lowe tilts his head way back and looks at Daddy over the tops of his glasses. "Well, know what?" Next thing, he's coming up the steps towards us. "I think I'll pop in and say hi to 'em."

"Are you sure?" Daddy asks. "Don't mean to be rude, but I don't think there's enough for all of us."

Jesse Lowe reaches the top of the stairs. He's shorter than Daddy but he still doesn't seem scared. He looks straight at Daddy, and he says, "I'll be quick," and then passes him by. I move out of his way, and I see Daddy make a face before he reaches out and snaps Jesse Lowe's neck. The sound is ugly and I close my eyes as the man hits the ground with a sound that might be even uglier. His glasses fall off his face. His eyes are blue.

Daddy faces the yard and then me. "Have you seen anyone else?"

"No."

He keeps looking at me, a moment goes by, and I feel my belly get tight again right before Daddy's fists clench. "Why the bloody hell were you outside?"

"I just wanted to take a walk," I say in a little voice.

"You do not do anything without my permission! You know better than to wander off in the day, anyway! Things are already difficult for us, Amara – I don't need you making it worse." He jabs a finger at me. "I haven't put you over my knee in a good while, have I? Has that been a mistake? Do I need to?"

"No, please, I'll be good, I'm trying to be good, Daddy . . ."

He grabs my arm, fast enough to scare me and hard enough to hurt. "Try harder," he says with our faces really close and his voice more of a hiss. "Your mother is in an extremely delicate place, and the slightest thing could push her over the edge. You will do as I say, you will do as you think I would say, or I will make you cry."

"I'm already crying," I try to just say, but it ends up as more of a whimper accidentally and a sob jerks from my throat, too.

Daddy's hand loosens. "I . . ."

I hide my eyes behind my arm. I want Mummy, safe and soft and not all burned up, and thinking about that pushes more tears into my eyes but just then Daddy pulls me closer, and I'm afraid, until he wraps his arms around me and smooths my hair.

"Oh, Mar . . . I'm sorry, love. I'm sorry. I'm just so worried about Mummy and I'm taking it out on you, sweet."

"I didn't mean – he just, he just drove up –"

"Shh, it's okay, darling. You shouldn't have come out here, that's true, but I know you didn't mean to cause trouble. You're my good girl, I know that."

"Then please don't give me a smacking. Please."

"I won't, I won't. Hush now, Princess. Everything's fine, Daddy's here . . ." He picks me up and I cling to him as he walks back and forth across the porch, hushing me and rubbing my back, being careful to step around Jesse Lowe's body.

. . . . .

"Daddy, what're we going to do?" I ask him later, when I've calmed down and we're sitting on the porch swing. I'm playing with his hand, chipping some of the black polish off his nails.

"We're going to find a new place to live. A better place, where we can have some peace for a change."

"And there won't be a Slayer?"

He closes his eyes. "There won't be a Slayer."

"Is Mummy going to be okay?"

"Of course she is, darling. You know how fast Mummy and I heal."

"I don't mean about the burns. I mean . . . in her head. About . . ." But Daddy told me to forget about Angeles. He told me to forget about Sunnydale too, though, and I haven't done a good job with that.

"She'll be fine, baby. She just needs time." He's quiet for a minute, pushing us back and forth. The chains on the swing go creak, creak. "Maybe we'll go south. Cross the border. Your mother used to talk about Brazil."

"Brazil? Isn't that where you found me?"

He gives a little smile, which is nice to see. "No, love. That was Brussels."

"Oh. Can we go there?"

"There's nothing for you in Brussels."

"I want to see what it looks like."

"You'll like Brazil."

I don't argue because that would be pushing him, which I'm not supposed to do, and anyway, he says we can travel more when I'm older and I've turned, like him and Mummy. And then I'll have forever to go to Brussels or anywhere else I want.

Like Sunnydale.

Forget about Sunnydale.

"Mar," Daddy say softly, "I shouldn't have yelled at you, sweet girl. But I meant what I said. Mummy's in a delicate place. I need you to be on your best behavior for her. And for me."

I don't think I've been bad, but I don't say that.

"Mind me well enough, and I'll take you toy shopping when we settle down. You can pick out whatever you like."

"Can I get a kitten?"

"Only if I'm feeling peckish." He winks at me and I can't help but giggle, even though I really do want a kitten and he knows it. Daddy sighs and looks past me. "I'm going to take our friend up to your mother and have her eat. I saw some cereal in the kitchen last night, up in a cabinet. Pour yourself a bowl. Then you can watch the telly for a bit before you go back to bed."

"I don't want Mummy to sleep with me," I whisper. "I'm afraid she'll open the curtains again."

"I'll keep Mummy with me," Daddy says, sounding like he needs sleep more than any of us. He kisses my hand. "Come on, then."

. . . . .

I try to watch the telly with my cereal but there's nothing good on, just a bunch of boring people talking about God, or just human stuff that I don't understand and that Daddy says I don't need to, because I'm not really one of them, in the ways that matter. I go upstairs, back to the room where Mummy burned herself. There are ashes on the ground and there's a funny smell. I take the blanket and Rosalie from my bed and return downstairs, to the living room sofa. It's comfy enough. I snuggle Rosalie and close my eyes, and I guess that works, because when Mummy wakes me up, it's nearly dark outside.

"Hello, lovely," she whispers to me, tracing her fingernails across my face. The light's on in the kitchen but the living room is very dark. Her skin is so light, though, that I can see her pretty well anyway. She doesn't look burned up anymore. She and Daddy do heal so fast. "We're going to Brazil," Mummy says. "We're going to dance there and meet magical people. We're going to be so happy." She picks up my hand and sniffs my wrist. "Mm."

"Daddy says I can get new toys."

"All the toys in the world for a princess."

"And you can get new dolls."

"Yes. And we can get a new daddy for you."

I sit up. "You're silly, Mummy."

She smiles, then laughs all-out.

"Amara."

Daddy's standing at the foot of the stairs, mostly in the dark. Mummy laughs harder, and a bad feeling hits me so strongly I almost lie back down, curl up with Rosalie, go back to sleep.

"Go upstairs," Daddy says. "Brush your teeth and draw a bath. We're leaving in an hour."

He sounds like him. But still wrong. And he hasn't looked at me. He's only looking at Mummy, and he keeps looking at her as I tiptoe past him with Rosalie, up to the bathroom, where I turn the bath faucet as far as it will go so the water comes pouring out hard and the sound is loud enough that I can't hear anything they say downstairs and maybe they can't hear me crying, crying again, this time for no reason I can understand.


	4. Chapter 4

"Daddy," I say loud enough for him to hear me all the way in the front seat, "I'm hungry and I have to go to the bathroom."

His head's just a dark shape against the windshield with the night and streetlights behind it. "Alright, give us fifteen minutes, love."

I sink down, hugging Rosalie. We've been in the car for hours and hours. We passed through a big city that was fun to look at early in the night, and that made Mummy happy, but that was ages ago. Daddy's playing music again, but he's playing it on quiet. And I don't have any books or toys. So it's pretty much been torture.

"Baby's hungry," sings Mummy. "Baby needs to nurse." She sits straight in her seat, I can see her shoulders, and she pushes down one of her dress straps.

"Dru," Daddy says. "Put that away, pet. She's five. And she's never nursed from you."

"Oh – right." Mummy pulls the strap back up. "My baby . . . she's _not_ my baby."

"Drusilla."

"I'm a big girl," I say.

"My baby . . ." Mummy turns in her seat and stares at me. "When I first saw you in my head, you were pink and screaming. But I knew you were like me." She tilts her head. "You would hear the flowers and the stars. You would see the stories in people's brains, with all the pretty pictures. You were such a pretty picture, my sweet . . ." Her hand comes out and dangles in front of me, lights from the street making her sharp fingernails shine. I touch her hand and her fingers dance over my palm, then jerk away. "But Daddy wouldn't let me make you mine."

_"Drusilla,"_ Daddy snaps. "That's enough. She is yours, she's your baby." He reaches his hand over and she swings her head towards him. "She's our baby."

"I'm not a baby," I mutter to Rosalie.

"She's not like us," says Mummy, sliding a hand into her hair. "You promised we could make her like us . . ."

"When the time is right, we will. Just have a little patience, love," Daddy says. "Think about Brazil. Think about decorating our new home."

"I want daisies, Spike . . ."

"Then you'll have all the daisies you want, my pet."

"And pig's skulls."

"I'll track down every hog in the country."

"And we'll dance, Spike?"

"Yes, love. We'll dance. And we'll move on from everything horrible that's happened to us the past two years, from that bloody Slayer and that bloody town, from Prague, from everything that's tried to hurt us. We'll live like royals, I swear it."

"Will we move on from Angeles, too?"

I squeeze Rosalie. Daddy squeezes the steering wheel, I see his hands get tight, the veins pop out of his skin. "Yes, dear God. We will move on from Angeles."

We stop at a gas station. Stretching my legs down to the asphalt feels weird. That happens when you go for a long time without getting out of the car. I forgot how much I don't like to do that, and we'll be doing a lot of it, because Daddy says Brazil is far, far off. "Daddy," I ask as we walk across the empty little parking lot, leaving Mummy in the car to talk to herself, "Can we stop somewhere and just get me one or two toys?"

"I told you when I'd get you new toys, Mar."

"I know, but I don't have any at all right now, except for Rosalie, and she's not really for playing. And I don't have any books, either, and it's important for me to read, Daddy –"

"Okay . . . Okay. Tomorrow we'll find a store and you can get some toys and books."

"Why did Mummy say you didn't, uhm, let her make me hers?"

Daddy holds open the glass door for me. "Because Mummy's mad as a hatter, Amara, if you haven't noticed."

She's always been that way, though. "But I am hers, right?"

He guides me in by my shoulder. "Completely, sweet. Hers and mine."

There's no one in the gas station but a wrinkled man with a black wool hat and eyes that squint at us from behind the counter with the cash register. Daddy steers me to the restroom. There's a mirror in there and as I'm washing my hands I look at my reflection. When I was little Mummy had Daddy pay a magic man to make me look like her and Daddy, so I have dark hair like her and fair skin like her and blue eyes like Daddy. _She's not like us,_ Mummy said. _You promised we could make her like us . . ._ But I am like them, the magic man made me like them.

_She's not my baby._

And I'm not a baby. But something about how Mummy said that . . .

But Daddy said I am hers so I am. Daddy understands the real things better than Mummy does.

I leave the bathroom and walk through the shelves and pick the tasty things up, Daddy following along. He shakes his head when I tell him I've got all I want. "Pop-Tarts, candied pecans, potato chips – right, there's your fruit, protein, veggies." He sighs. "You're eating a salad later. Come on."

Daddy pays for the food and a carton of cigarettes and we go outside again. There's a new car here now. Two men are standing beside it, grinning, and Mummy's standing in front of them with her tongue against her teeth and her eyes shining.

"Well. There's a spot of good luck." I look up to see Daddy lighting a cigarette, his face twisted in the wrinkly way it goes before he eats. "Go wait in the car, sweet."


	5. Chapter 5

_Halloween night was the second time Daddy went after the Slayer. Halloween is when kids dress up in costumes and go around asking for candy from people in houses. One of the vampires working for Daddy told me about it, and Daddy punched him, because then Daddy had to tell me I couldn't go. Vampires didn't go out on Halloween and I'm pretty much a vampire. But it made him upset when I cried and so he promised me he would get me candy and some movies we could watch. That made me feel better._

_But then Mummy had a vision. She said that the Slayer would be weak on Halloween. So Daddy had to go out that night._

_"You said we could watch movies."_

_"Darling, this is too important. We'll watch movies tomorrow."_

_"I want you here."_

_"Your mother's here."_

_"I want you here."_

_"Do you want your mother healthy again?"_

_"Yes."_

_"Then I have to go."_

_So he left. But he didn't get the Slayer that night._

_He brought me back some candy, though._


	6. Chapter 6

"Look how pretty this is, Amara . . . We need a bigger one, so Mummy and Baby match . . ."

I touch the dress, red and sparkling even in the dark, and it _is_ very dark, because it's early, early morning, the kind of early morning where it's still more or less night. Mummy wanted to go shopping. We do need new clothes – I've been wearing the same dress for two days now – and I like shopping, sometimes, but only for a little while and not quite so late in the night. It's past my bedtime. If I even have a bedtime anymore. I don't know what the rules are now. Anyway, Mummy saw a little shop she thought she would like and Daddy pulled over and killed the security guard and now we're shopping, and I wish we weren't.

"Don't you like it, darling?"

The dress is too glittery for something to wear every day. That's what we were supposed to be shopping for, I think, everyday things. "Can I try on some pants?"

She grazes my nose with one of her sharp nails. "Ladies wear _dresses_." She takes the little dress off the rack and drapes it over her arm.

I point at a mannequin. "She's wearing pants."

"She's not a princess," Mummy says, taking my hand.

"I don't _want_ to be a princess."

"Shush. Quiet. You're no fun when you're cross." She tries to pull me along and I pull against her, kind of.

"I don't _want_ to try on dresses, Mummy."

"Amara." I jump and turn to see Daddy behind us, appearing from nowhere, buttoning up a new shirt. "Do you remember what we talked about the other morning? On the porch?"

Being on my best behavior. Which I guess means doing whatever Mummy wants me to do. I rub my eye but let her lead me further into the store.

I try on all the dresses Mummy picks out for me and she gasps at how lovely they are. I think she misses playing with her dolls, although she's told me before that I'm her favorite doll. I'm relieved when she finally twirls into the dressing room alone to try on the dresses she found for herself. Daddy's sitting on the bench right outside the dressing room doors, his head leaned against the wall and his eyes closed. I sit next to him.

"Daddy, Mummy said we're going to Italy."

"We're not."

"Why does she think we are?"

"She doesn't. She just thinks she wants to."

"But she doesn't want to?"

"Mummy," he says, "wants to make things as difficult as possible for Daddy."

"Why?"

"I don't know. Perhaps in a previous life I offended a god with a twisted sense of humor."

"What does that mean, Daddy?"

"Nothing, Mar. I'm being silly." But he's not having fun being silly, the way he sometimes does, on the nights I love, when he's not too busy and can play with me for a bit. He hasn't smiled at me all night. Not at Mummy, either.

I'm wearing one of my new dresses. I kick against it, the soft fabric. It's green and pretty, but I don't want to be pretty all the time. Mummy doesn't like me to get my dresses dirty. "I want pants."

"You can get some."

"Mummy won't let me wear them."

"Catch her on the right day and she won't even notice."

Mummy spills out of the dressing room, all red lace and sweeping fabric. "Amara, put the red dress back on. I want to see us in the mirror, Mummy and Baby."

My legs drop against the bench. "I'm not a baby!"

"Mind your tone," Daddy hisses, and I don't understand _why_ he's so concerned with how I speak to Mummy, since I don't think he's very happy with her right now, but I close my mouth and slide off the bench and go to Mummy with my head bowed. I press my face against her tummy.

"Mummy, let's go home and play with dolls."

"Might be hard, considering we don't have a home at the moment," Daddy says. I grip Mummy's dress and she strokes my hair.

"Poor darling," she says. "No home of her own. Daddy made us leave it, didn't he?"

I flinch before the words are all the way out of her mouth, but I flinch even more when Daddy shouts, _"That's enough!"_ I don't look at him, but I'm certain he's on his feet, and I can imagine the scary look he's giving Mummy and that's more than enough to scare me.

"Spike," Mummy says, not sounding frightened at all. "Mind your tone . . ."

"You're angry with me," I hear Daddy say. "I get it. But everything I did, I did for us, and I'd do it again. Yeah, we left our home. But it wasn't a very great home, was it? With the Slayer as our next-door neighbor? We were there to get you healthy, and we succeeded. I saved you, damn it! Now I'm trying to find us a new, safer, _better_ home, but you have to stop throwing the past in my face!" Daddy huffs out a breath. "Now pick out whatever dresses you want and let's go. Amara's tired and it'll be morning soon."

"I'm not tired," I can't help but say.

"Well, Daddy bloody well is. Dru. Dresses. Then let's go."

Mummy whines once but separates from me and floats back into the dressing room. I hear the hangers knocking against each other as she hums. Daddy sits down and lights a cigarette. He fumbles with the lighter before he makes the fire go.

"I'm sorry I said _home_ ," I whisper. "I didn't mean going back. I just meant somewhere. Don't be cross with me, please."

"I'm cross with the world, Mar," Daddy says. He sighs out a long stream of smoke. "Darling, please just be quiet for a bit. Daddy needs to think."

There are sirens a little while after that, police sirens. They make Daddy perk up. He eyes the front door as blue and red lights start to jump around outside. "Well. At least we got delivery."

. . . . .

There are four dead police officers in the parking lot when Daddy leads me out by my hand. Mummy looks up from one of them, blood dripping down her chin. She stands slowly and waves at me. "Come, feed, baby," she says. "Come taste."

I stop, but Daddy's grip is like stone. "Let's go, Dru."

And then Mummy's right in front of me, fast as lightning, like vampires can move if they want to. She's kneeling right in front of me. "Baby's hungry," she whispers, swiping a finger through the blood on her face and holding it out to me. "Drink, sweet, you'll like the taste, I promise . . ."

But Daddy yanks her up fast. "Amara, get in the car," he says, and I creep past him and slide into the car with all the shopping bags. I hug Rosalie and try not to listen to my parents but listen anyway. They're standing right outside, it's hard not to.

"Drusilla," Daddy says, "I know you're having a rough time of things, darling, but frankly, you're starting to get on my last nerve with this nonsense. Amara is not a vampire. Not yet. Amara cannot turn into a vampire for many years to come. Amara cannot drink blood. Amara cannot suckle at your breast. I don't know why you decided to forget all this, but give remembering a go, because I really doubt life as a single parent would suit me."

"You're hurting me," Mummy says. "I like it."

Daddy reaches around, grabs her hair, yanks her head back. "I can hurt you worse."

"Can you?"

His voice changes, gets smoother. "Oh yes, my pet." He yanks her head harder, she cries out and grabs onto him, and then they start kissing and I stop watching. I accidentally fibbed to Daddy earlier – I am tired, I'm very, very tired, and I understand nothing. I want to go to bed. Any bed.

. . . . .

"Daddy," I say and really kind of cry, even though I don't mean to, "Please don't leave me alone."

He sighs and crouches in front of me. I'm sitting on a motel bed, which has an itchy bedspread, like motel beds always do. I hate it. I hate this entire, grey room, and I hate these new pajamas with the little hearts on them, and I hate that Daddy expects me to sleep in here, in this strange, ugly place, without him and Mummy. "Amara," he says. "You're only upset because you're so sleepy, love. If you weren't, you would remember that you're a big, brave girl, and sleeping in a room just a few doors down from Mummy and I is hardly an ordeal. In fact, you've done it nearly every night of your life."

"It's different, though! When it's not in the same house! It's like a different house altogether!"

"No, it's a different _room_ altogether. Same as always."

I reach out with both hands and clasp onto the collar of his jacket, then let one hand float up to touch his face. "Why can't I sleep with you and Mummy?"

Daddy sighs. "We've talked about this before, love." He takes my hands, kisses one, but then sets them back in my lap, covered by his own. "Mummies and Daddies sometimes need to be alone."

"Why?"

"To . . . do Mummy-and-Daddy things."

"Like what?"

"Like . . . grownup things. Mar – this is happening, alright? Mummy and Daddy need it to happen." He takes my shoulders. "Daddy really, _really_ needs it to happen. So you're going to get all snuggly in your bed, close your eyes, and sleep away the day. And all will be well."

I push out my lower lip.

"Don't pout. I get enough of that from your mother. Now go on, get under the covers."

I slowly crawl to where all the pillows are and wiggle under the bedspread. Rosalie's already there, right where Daddy put her, and I wrap her in my arms and bury half of my face in her back. Daddy leans down and pets my hair.

"Now, I have a key to your room. I'm also very, very strong and very, very fast and I have very, very good hearing. So if you need me, cry out, and I'll be here in no time at all." He takes my chin and makes me look at him. "But _only_ if you need me. If you call me unnecessarily, I will be very unhappy. Understand?"

"Yes."

"No leaving the motel room. No answering the door. I'll come get you sometime in the afternoon, and we can find a nice movie on the telly while we wait for nightfall. Alright?"

I sniffle. "Can I watch the telly in here?"

"Try to sleep first. I doubt it'll be hard." He kisses my forehead and heads for the door. I squeeze Rosalie and watch him go, watch him step out into the dim hallway, all the while hoping he'll change his mind and tell me to come with him, that I can sleep with him and Mummy after all, that he doesn't know what he was thinking, leaving me in here alone. But he doesn't do any of that. He closes the door. I see the middle part of the knob twist like a ghost grabbed it, but I know it was just Daddy locking the door. Leaving me.

I sob once, but it's not a very teary sob. I'm a little scared, but mostly . . . mostly I'm angry, I suppose. Because parents should leave their kids alone in motel rooms, it's lonely and I'm only little, still. I almost turn on the telly, just because Daddy said not to do that unless I tried to sleep first, but then I decide it would probably be smart to at least pretend to try to sleep first, so if Daddy asks about it, I won't be lying as much in saying that I did. So I shut my eyes and _pretend_ to try to sleep.


	7. Chapter 7

When I wake up, light is slipping in through the closed blinds, slicing yellow lines into the carpet just below the window. I squint at them, the lines, and then at the clock on my bedside table. The red letters read eleven-o-four.

"We weren't supposed to fall asleep, Rosalie. We were supposed to just be pretending." I push myself up and shake my head around, getting the sleepiness out of my brain. "We'll watch the telly now, though, won't we? Daddy said I could. He'd say to keep sleeping right now, though." Vampires, or close-to-being vampires, never get up this early. "But he's not here to say that, because he and Mummy left me alone. So let's watch the telly, Rosalie."

I find the remote on top of a table in the corner, and it's right when I press the ON button that my tummy rumbles and I realize, as suddenly as a lightning strike, that I'm starving. The last thing I ate was a granola bar and that was hours and hours ago, in the middle of the night. Daddy usually makes sure I have more than that, but he didn't even bring it up before he tucked me in. He was too busy thinking about his and Mummy's grown-up things. I put my hand over my tummy and feel it twist in on itself as it rumbles again.

Daddy said he wouldn't be back until the afternoon. Probably around three or four, if I had to guess, and that's a long ways away for someone whose hungry, but I bite my lip and flip through the channels, because I can be patient. I've done it before.

Every channel, though, or close to every channel, is showing something like a burger with fries or a chef chopping meat or a group of people at a restaurant with a table full of delicious things. Humans are obsessed with food, Daddy's told me before, and Americans especially. He's not wrong much.

Finally I find a channel with no food, just kids a little older than me in what I think is a school. I pull Rosalie onto my lap and watch two girls and a boy talk about someone cheating on a test and why it's wrong, all the while walking down a hallway lined with what look like lots of cupboards, like you would see in a kitchen or bathroom, except these are painted green. I don't know why. Maybe that's normal for schools. I've never been to one. Daddy says I'm being homeschooled instead, and that I should be glad about it.

The boy in the show steps to the side of the hall and gives money to a vending machine. So much for no food.

_A vending machine._

There was one of those in the little building I followed Daddy into when we first got to this motel, the little building where Daddy checked us in and got our room keys. The vending machine, it had four different types of chips but no Skittles – I looked, because I like Skittles. But right now, I would be fine with chips, or a candy bar, or maybe pretzels –

Daddy forgot to make sure I ate last night. He wouldn't want me to be hungry because of that, because of him forgetting. And I have money in my new suitcase, because Daddy gives me his change sometimes. I'm sure I have at least a dollar. That's usually what you have to give vending machines. And it would be far better, surely, for me to run over to the other building for only a moment than to interrupt Mummy and Daddy when they're doing grown-up things.

My tummy rumbles again, louder now, almost sounding angry, and I make up my mind, jump off the bed, and go to my suitcase.

A few minutes later, dressed in one of my new dresses and clutching four quarters in my hand, I lock the motel door behind me and set off down the hall on tip-toe. There's a white door with a small window at the end of the hallway, and that's what I'm creeping towards, because I remember it from last night. I hold my breath passing Mummy and Daddy's bedroom. I hear her laughing, but I make it past without them springing out and catching me. Daddy wouldn't want me to go hungry, that's true, but it's still probably better if he just never knows about this.

Opening the door with the window is kind of a chore, because it wants to be loud, but I have to just hope that if Mummy and Daddy hear it creak they'll think it's just some stranger staying here, too. I slip out onto a sidewalk, and the door falls loudly shut behind me. I wince, but then nearly forget about the risk when the sunlight really seeps into me. I have a whole gravel parking lot to cross, but I put that off for a moment and just hang my head back to take in the sunshine, the blue, clear sky. I'm not supposed to like the daytime, but I kind of do. I can't help it.

I keep my eyes on the shabby brick building I'm heading for as I dart across the gravel lot. I don't want to see any strangers like I accidentally saw Jesse Lowe. We're supposed to keep a low profile until we leave the country, that's what Daddy told me.

I tug open a flimsy door with a crooked OPEN sign and walk into a room with a big desk and nobody behind it. Behind the desk is an open door, but from where I am, I can't see inside it. I can hear a simple song made up of little chimes, but I don't hear anyone speaking. And the vending machine is on the other side of the room, sitting between a rusty water fountain and an overflowing trash can, just waiting for me. I move towards it, tip-toeing again, just to be extra-careful.

I have to stretch to be able to fit my coins into the right slot, but I do, dropping them one by one, _ching ching ching ching_. I decide to get roasted peanuts, after a moment's thought, and press the buttons and watch as the bag is pushed slowly to the edge of its little shelf and then right off. It lands too loudly – I jump – and I crouch to get it, and when I stand, my snack safe in hand, I feel a tingling on the back of my neck and turn, fast. There's a boy in between me and the door.

I think he's my age. His hair is blonde, but not like Daddy's hair is blonde – this boy's hair is darker, and messier, not slicked back like Daddy wears his. He has a blue stain around his mouth and a blue sucker in his hand. "Hi," he says.

"Hi," I say, to be polite.

He pops his sucker in his mouth, twirls it around for a moment, and then pops it back out. "You a guest?"

"Yeah." I need to go. I only came in here because I was so hungry and because it would just take a minute. Every extra second I stay here makes my leaving the room a worse and worse thing.

This boy doesn't know that. "When'd you get here?"

I should ignore him and walk around him and out the door. Make a beeline for my room. I mean to, I really do, but somehow I don't, no, somehow my mouth opens and I tell him, "This morning."

He takes another moment to suck on his sucker before saying, "Why do you talk funny?"

"Because I'm English and sophisticated."

"What does _sophisticated_ mean?"

"Never you mind."

That's not a very good answer, because I don't have a very good answer, but I suppose the boy doesn't mind or care. He says, "Kids don't stay here much. My mom works here, or else I wouldn't be here. It's boring. But she let me bring my Nintendo to play in the office while she's cleaning the rooms. Wanna see?"

And I do want to see.

_You can't always get what you want,_ Daddy would say. And then something about doing what he says. What _he_ wants.

That's not always fair, though.

Daddy won't be up for hours.

_And anyway,_ says a little voice inside me, a naughty voice that makes me feel guilty and angry all at once, _If Daddy really didn't want you to leave the motel room, he wouldn't have left you alone._

In in the end, I follow this strange boy behind the big desk and into the room with the Nintendo. Just for a quick peek.

And I never get to talk to other kids, anyway.


End file.
